


Give Me a Smile

by Khemi



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Eventual Smut, Halloween, M/M, Makeup, On Hiatus, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Other characters mentioned - Freeform, Photography, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-02
Updated: 2015-11-02
Packaged: 2018-04-29 16:04:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5133755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Khemi/pseuds/Khemi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fenris is a photographer who's used to doing favours for his friends, but this one? This one might be too far, even for him, and the stranger it gets the more he wants to back out and leave this bullshit behind.</p><p>If only doing <em>that</em> didn't involve leaving behind this asshole's gorgeous smile.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Give Me a Smile

**Author's Note:**

> For [a nerd](http://dyr0z.tumblr.com/), who I hope enjoys this fluffy trash. It started as a plain photographer AU, but you know, these things never stay quite as tame as I intended them.
> 
> Happy late Halloween! Here's some sort of spoopy nonsense.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He's done plenty of favours in his time. This one will be just like any other.

“I have a _friend_ who’s looking for something... _special_ ,” Isabela told him, and it was hardly a surprise.

The sort of people who passed through Fenris’ door were as varied as the costumes and poses they brought with them, a menagerie of the beautiful, the curious, the humble and the haughty. From models with portfolios that needed to be just _so,_ to parents fussing over children who refused to sit still, to the odd client with a more risque brief who slipped him a few extra, crumpled notes as they started to tug their pants down without any shame in the motions; it took all kinds to make a world, and he’d certainly seen his fair share of the lot of them.

It was nothing strange to have people sent him way. Once Isabela and Varric learned just what he was willing to do, from the erotic to the exotic to the odd client he’d spend hours over with a brush and a palette of foundation, _masculinity_ be damned, it was like all the clients in the city came crawling out of the woodwork via a grin and another name and number scrawled on a napkin, another wink and a casual, _I’ll just send them along, then?_

Sometimes Fenris wondered where they even found these people, but hey, it was a living, and he wasn’t stupid enough to bite the hands that lured his food towards him.

The timing of this request was more unusual; normally she excitedly brought him names and headshots over coffee, but now she was curled to his side, tracing the mismatched colours of his skin as he flicked his lighter on-off, on-off, the last remnants of a habit he was almost ready to kick entirely. The night had been a good one, even if it was muddled with too much wine and too little inhibition, not that either of them would care come the morning.

His satisfaction was still recent enough that her odd choice of topic didn’t phase him as much as it might have done if he was thinking clearly.

“Something special?” He repeated back, and she beamed, nodding and dropping her head to his chest. “Do I get to ask, or just await your friend with bated breath and growing trepidation?”

“I prefer the trepidation. It’s so _fun_ hearing about you looking like a worried little puppy when you see what delight I’ve sent you today.”

“I do _not-_ ” He started hotly, but she laughed and silenced him with a kiss to his cheek, sitting up and stretching as she turned her face towards the window. The moonlight that fell from it through her into relief, a beautiful series of pale curves against dark skin, and Fenris wondered once again how many times he’d have to ask before she’d let him take a picture, let him capture that beautiful instant in the aftermath of pleasure and preserve it forever.

“Trust me,” she implored with a soft smile, turning her head back to him as she started gathering her hair back up to tuck it away under the scarf it had started to escape. “ _This_ one- this one is a good one Fenris. You’ll love them.”

Isabela had made such promises before, but never with a look like this in her eyes.

“...And if I don’t?”

“I’ll owe you.” _Again,_ he added silently, but she finished it with nothing but a smile.

He’d regret this, clearly. He flicked the lighter on-off, on-off, in careful thought, but neither of them doubted for a moment that when he settled, it would be with a dramatic sigh, and an inevitable, accepting nod.

❊

It was with Isabela’s parting kiss and thanks still on the edge of his mind that Fenris closed the next day, leaving the key in the lock as he gathered the spilled fabric his last client had left everywhere after dramatically throwing them around in some kind of _statement_ he still didn’t understand. He just took the pictures, as he reminded himself often. No input, because input led to blame for the ideas that didn’t work. No connections, because that led to too much being asked of him for too little, under the insistence that they were friends, right, he _must_ want to help a _friend._

He just took the pictures.

Today had been a good day for that, at least, even with ribbons and cloth all over his floor. One of his better customers- Alistair, one of Varric’s recommendations- had come by in the morning, large slobbering dog in tow, and though the beast wasn’t much to look at it was excellent at doing as it was told, much to the pride of the eager blonde who excitedly bounced around as the pictures were taken and tossed treats to his dog while Fenris adjusted his angles. Around lunch Merrill had appeared, with a huge display of flowers she needed captured, and though she had fretted over them the resulting set had been something he was still proud of, another one to go up on his wall of fame.

And then, regrettably, Tallis and her ribbons, but the less said about that the better.

Her pictures _had_ come out better than he thought, at least, he found when he settled at his desk to browse them. Her strange dance was a headache but he’d managed to balance lighting and shutter speed _just_ enough to catch her mid-flight, arms flung up and red ribbons trailing from them like the blood of the dignity she had slain with every motion. He scrolled through a few more, shaking his head at the frames playing back her prancing shot-by-shot, and Lord, he remembered Varric accusing _him_ of choreographing this nonsense, such an insulting notion he couldn’t believe-

A sharp knock at the door jerked him from his thoughts, the beat erratic, quiet _here_ and louder _there_. Isabela’s little favour had arrived, then, just as late as he’d been warned. _They work nights,_ she’d said, ignoring his groaning about having _business hours_ for a reason, _they’ll be along once they wake up, you’ll just have to wait a little, promise._

He shut his laptop after a moment of hesitation, the chance to pretend he had left still there, but- No, he’d never hear the end of it. She’d make sure of that.

So on it was, then, to presenting some other person with the _worried little puppy face_ Isabela _insisted_ he had.

Terrible woman.

...He adored her so much.

That adoration was the only reason that he turned the key with only a _small_ amount of trepidation, bracing himself for the storm she'd sent his way. It _was_ a storm, he knew that much from the way Isabela had danced around the details and not bothered with a name, an absence notable and telling. This was some scheme of hers, and whether he was the target or just part of the plan- well, that remained to be seen.

Fenris took a slow breath, and opened the door.

His first thought was that Isabela had sent him a literal bear, the silhouette framed in his doorway hunched over and still managing to loom above him. Fenris fumbled out the lighter before he’d even thought about the action, the rapid flick-flick steadying his nerves as he cleared his throat.

“Can I help you?”

“Uh.”

The man- who had _no_ right to be as tall as he was- pressed his hand to the outer face of the doorframe, ducking into the light and waving a scrap of paper hopefully, Isabela’s cursive dancing over it to a close sealed with smudged lipstick. Fenris snatched it quickly, muttering her name and a curse that sounded much harsher in Spanish, to his great satisfaction.

“Isabela said you could help me with some photos?” Tall and bearded continued hesitantly, flinching back when Fenris shot him a glare that devolved quickly into a critical examination. Good facial structure, nice skin tone, too many freckles to count- always nice in black and white- and… He wrinkled his nose. An _atrociously_ attractive smile. _Disgusting_.

These pictures were going on the wall for sure.

“If by help you, you mean _take them,_ then yes.” Flick-flick went the lighter, and the paper burned just enough it crumbled when he screwed it up in his hand and turned away. After a moment, he realised he wasn't being followed, and added curtly, “ _Come in_ , hang your coat up over there, don’t touch anything.”

“How can I hang my coat up with touching anything?”

Fenris bit back a retort, ignoring the strained chuckle that followed him across the room. Another _witty_ one, Isabela did _love_ sending him those. At least this time the man had the looks of a model, and God willing knew how to _act_ like one. He found his ledger as he tossed the ruined scrap away, pen scratching out sharper lines to mark a date, time, and- “Do you have a name?”

“Hawke.”

“ _Hawke,_ ” Fenris repeated disdainfully, looking over his monitor at the furry mountain now carefully edging around his equipment.

“Yes, Hawke. Just Hawke. I _do_ have another name, but I like to keep it for the third date, do a dramatic reveal, my secret identity out at last! Not that... _this_ is a date,” Hawke added, smile sticking and awkwardness leaping redly over his pale cheeks. “Unless Isabela was a _lot_ better at lying than I thought- and I already thought she was pretty _good-_ Look, do you _need_ more than Hawke?”

Fenris tapped the pen once, twice, then scribbled out the name with a weary sigh.

“Hawke will do.”

“ _Great,_ wonderful. Marvellous.” Hawke ducked under one of the mirrors Fenris hung around his studio but didn't quite bring his shoulder down low enough to miss it, knocking it askew. With a sheepish grin he reached up, carefully tilting it back into place as Fenris grit his teeth and reminded himself this one was going to pay extra, should Isabela be believed.

What _for_ , though? The hours, the pictures, some silly request to rival Tallis’ dancing? That remained entirely to be seen.

Hawke shuffled over and slid his duffel bag from his back, holding it up proudly in front of himself like a child with a painting for the fridge, and before Fenris could ask what he was doing it was dropped on the desk, clattering horribly with the clash of plastic and metal inside. He recoiled, scowling as Hawke muttered an apology.

“Isabela said you can do makeup?” The question caught him off-guard, considering who it was coming from- but if Fenris had learned anything in his years taking pictures, it was to never judge a model at first glance. The strangest people often looked the meekest, the most colourful personalities sometimes fit best in shirts and slacks, and he was _never_ going to pretend there wasn’t an appeal to a rugged looking man in lipstick and heels.

“It’s a talent,” he answered carefully. “There’ll be a charge-”

“Of course! I brought some things- I didn’t know what you’d need.” Hawke started unzipping the bag, gaze fixed down on it. “I just figured if I shoved everything in you could find what was right.”

“You didn’t have to bring-”

-More makeup than Fenris had seen in his _life._ He put a hand to the side of his head, staring at it quietly and trying not to think of how much it must have cost, how _wrong_ some of those colours were. They put testers and mirrors out for a _reason,_ how could anyone have this much trouble…

“What do you want me to do with this?” He managed at last, wondering why there was so much foundation and tints and so… little of everything else. Contouring? Contouring he could do, not that Hawke really _needed_ it, not with how kind nature had been to his looks already.

“I want you to do my face.”

Fenris waited a moment, just enough to draw in a calming breath and plaster on a thin, cold smile.

“No. _Really?_ I hadn’t a clue.” He sighed when Hawke’s hopeful smile didn’t waver. “ _What_ do you want me to do _to_ your face?”

“I don’t want you to do anything to it, I just want you to make it look the same. But… with this,” Hawke gestured down at the bottles and palettes. “Can you do that?”

“You want me to… make you look like _you._ ”

“Yes! Just that. And I’d like you to take a picture of it when it’s done.”

Fenris flicked the lighter faster, pointing with the hand that held it, and Hawke leaned back, smile growing more pained as his eyes fixed down on the flame. You got all sorts of crazy requests, Fenris kept reminding himself that, and sure, it was true! But this was new. This was- _weird._ And God only knew Fenris was used to eccentric, between Anders’ ideas for _manifesto illustrations_ and that whole _thing_ that Dorian kept asking for- but _this?_

“You want me,” he said slowly, “to make you look… like _you…_ and take a picture of you. You, who looks like you.”

Hawke beamed.

“ _Exactly.”_

Isabela _owed_ him for _this_ bullshit.

“Fine, fine, if you’re paying for the service, you can _have_ the service, even if it’s… _Whatever_ this is.” Fenris reached down and carefully picked through the mass of products that was bursting from between the split zip, pursing his lips up in thought as he chose a few choice palettes and held them up to examine them in the light. “I have a small studio in the back, just a table and seat and mirror, really, we can go back there and-”

“No!” Hawke yelped it, and Fenris startled, nearly dropping the eyeshadow he’d been moving to the pile of possibilities. “No.” This time at least it was repeated somewhat calmly, Hawke’s radiant smile returning and a chuckle that could melt silver slipping out of his curved lips. “There’s no need for all that, is there? Can’t you just do it here?”

“You want me to- No. You know what? _Nevermind_. Sure, I can do it right here, just sit in the chair and-” Fenris pushed him down into it as Hawke moved close enough. “There. _Perfect.”_ He pat around his desk until he found a hand-mirror, thankfully left over from some of Merrill’s more artistic requests. It was shoved ungracefully into Hawke’s hand, the bearded enigma raising it up to give it a weak smile before he pressed it down to his thigh to reflect the ceiling instead. Make-up at the desk, at Fenris’ _own desk,_ with a duffel bag of God knew what and a mirror meant for _plants._ What a mess. Fenris smiled anyway, strained and thin. “Look how _professional_ this is.”

“It doesn’t look very-” Hawke started, before catching himself, blurting out a nervous laugh. “Oh. _Oh._ I see. Yes. No, it’s… _very_ professional.”

Fenris would have strangled him if his smile wasn’t quite so- _Augh._ It should be illegal. Honestly, it likely _was_ in some parts of the world.

“What sort of complexion were you looking for? I’m assuming you want me to try to make you look natural.” Distracting himself with the task at hand was clearly a perfect solution for how frustratingly easy it was to be carried away by that smile, and the jawline it sat on, and the eyes that curved up when Hawke-

 _No._ No. _Complexions._

“...I don’t know, whatever I have now is fine.” Hawke hummed, patting his own cheek. “Is this a good complexion? You know I’ve never really thought about _complexions_ before, do they really make a difference?”

Fenris took a deep breath. “They change your… I mean you really only have the one but I could take some flaws out, or-” Hawke smiled at him blankly, and Fenris sighed. Why was he trying? “Yes. It makes a difference. I can try and make you look exactly the same, or as close as possible, if you _insist_ , flaws and all _._ ”

“That’s all I really want. Just this.” Hawke waved helpfully at his face. “I’m sure whatever you come up with will be lovely.”

Lord give him _strength._

“I’m sure it will be,” is what he actually said, smiling back insipidly. “Let’s find a good base colour and we’ll work from there.”

For all his faults, Hawke sat remarkably still as Fenris found a few likely colours and tried them on his cheek, just above the mass of hair that would need to be tackled _eventually._ That was another headache though, a problem for Future Fenris, something that could be thankfully ignored for now. All that mattered in the present was the colours he was comparing as he nudged Hawke’s head to the side, before he flicked a finger down towards the mirror.

“Have a look. Tell me which one you like.”

Hawke blinked at him, starting to move like he’d just started to breathe again, glancing down at the mirror and then back to his face.

“What?” Fenris frowned at him. “Go on. Just an _opinion._ ”

“Uh.” His Adam’s apple bobbed, before he raised the mirror, eyes flicking back and forth across it. They settled after a moment, and he tilted his head so the colours caught the light, his eyes going bright like he’d just realised it was Christmas, and somehow the stripes across his cheek were the best gift he could’ve hoped for. “Oh, oh wow. Look, you can see all the little- Which colour, though? Hm. The… bottom one?”

Fenris would have accepted it without another word if he hadn’t caught the odd movement of Hawke’s eyes, gaze darting to the hand holding the mirror and back a few times like he was trying to compare the shades to his thumb instead of the face they were sat on. The shades were close, too- too close. Why would _anyone-_

“I thought you wanted me to make your skin look the same,” Fenris said slowly, and Hawke tensed, not quite putting that smile back fast enough. “If you wanted it darker…”

“No, no, I- Sorry, _sorry_. You just pick what you think fits! The light must be making them look different from this angle? Maybe.” He glanced to the mirror again. “ _Possibly._ ”

“...These lights wouldn’t…” Fenris huffed in irritation, but he wondered if there was merit to it. Maybe light was catching in the mirror? It was the only thing he could think of, he hadn’t spent a fortune on good fittings just to make colours look _wrong._ “Look, I _know_ my lighting, let me see what you’re-”

“ _No!_ ” Hawke slammed the mirror down again as Fenris stepped over, and Fenris blinked, hand straying back down towards the lighter that he’d only recently nestled back in his pocket. Just when he thought they were getting somewhere, back to the strangeness he’d somehow almost forgotten, and a brand new flavour of it to keep things _interesting._

Wonderful.

“I have no idea what you think you’re doing,” Fenris snapped, irritation bubbling too thick under his tolerance, rising too near to the surface to stay subdued. “I _can_ just say _no._ This is a favour already, I’m meant to be closed, and I _certainly_ didn’t sign up for whatever this bullshit is meant to be!”

“No, wait, please-” Hawke grabbed his arm in a panic as Fenris went to walk away, the grip painfully tight. Fenris grunted at the dig of the fingers into his skin, and with a quick apology Hawke let go, the motions jerky and tense. “ _Please._ She said you wouldn’t ask questions, that was the only reason I thought I could- Look I can _show you,_ but you _don’t want me to,_ I’m telling you.”

“Show me what? If you want to make sense at all, now would be an _excellent_ time.”

“Alright.” Hawke nodded uneasily, glancing down at the mirror before he looked straight at Fenris, eyes unsettling in their intensity. “Alright, I can show you, but you have to promise me you won’t scream, or run, or- well, trying to kill me never goes well, so that’s something we could try to avoid? Perhaps?”

“Remember when I said about making sense?” Fenris forced himself to stay calm, body relaxing when those eyes finally moved off of him. “ _Still_ a _great_ time to do that.”

“I’m…” Hawke sighed heavily, fidgeting with the mirror before he flipped the glass upwards. “I’m making perfect sense. You’ll see.”

“I’ll _see-_ ” It was started with every intention to add some scathing close, but when the mirror lifted it fell to nothing, Fenris’ voice catching in his throat with a soft wheeze. He blinked instead, too fast, eyes unsure where to focus and his hand feeling clammy as it closed around his lighter and just held it in a vice, unable to bring together enough clear thought to pull it out, let alone flick it open.

He was breathing too quickly, he could see that in the mirror, chest heaving clearly with nothing to hide it from sight.

_Nothing to hide it._

Nothing except stripes of cream and powder, curved around nothing, marking a cheek that should have _been there._

_Why wasn’t it-_

“What,” he managed to choke out, and Hawke laughed nervously, leaning his head back and smiling far too broadly, far too cheerful, the empty shirt collar shifting in the mirror as he moved.

“Do you see now?” He asked, the foundation shifting in the mirror with each motion of an unseen mouth.

Fenris clutched the lighter tighter, and finally found the presence of mind to summon a calming flame.

“Well _shit,_ ” he managed hoarsely, and that was really all there was to say.

❊

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :0c
> 
> Oh, my...

**Author's Note:**

> I can be found on [Tumblr](http://khemi.tumblr.com/) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/KhemiEvans), and [prompts are always welcome](http://khemi.tumblr.com/ask).


End file.
